


Looking for Something Dumb to do

by Della19



Series: Pretty Gentleman [5]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, Fluffy, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Della19/pseuds/Della19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you.</i>
</p><p>Or, the four times Eggsy fails at finding the perfect time to ask Harry to marry him, and the one time he nails it.  </p><p>Eggsy/Harry, Fifth in my Pretty Gentleman Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for Something Dumb to do

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Looking for Something Dumb to do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008220) by [chatain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatain/pseuds/chatain)



> Disclaimer: I wish I did own it, but I don't.

***************************************

_It's a beautiful night,_

_We're looking for something dumb to do_

_Hey baby_

_I think I want to marry you_

Bruno Mars - _Marry You_

***************************************

Look, Eggsy ain’t the type of bloke who's got many opinions on marriage. Comin’ from where he’s from marriage is ‘sumthing that happens after the condom breaks and before the tot makes an appearance if you’re lucky, and not at all if you ain’t. Love and marriage ain’t exactly bedfellows in the Estates, is what he means, and so Eggsy’s hardly the type of bloke to give marriage much thought.

And then there’s Harry.

“Cause look, Eggsy figures he could write the history of his life as a series of ‘Before Harry,’ and ‘After Harry.’ Before Harry, the only experience Eggsy’d ever had with love was from ‘is memories of ‘is mum and da, and given how that’d ended, he’d never had much hope. After Harry, Eggsy knows what it is to look at another person and think, _oh, there you are, I’ve been looking for you forever_ , and it’s a change he’d never go back on.

Eggsy ain’t no expert, but he knows this, in the deepest part of ‘imself: Harry’s it for ‘im. Harry’s the big _it_ , the ‘one,’ the only one Eggsy wants to fuck in every available corner and kiss while watching silly old spy movies and let ‘im eat toast in ‘is bed, and get crumbs _everywhere_ and not even _care_.

Harry’s ‘is happy ever after.

So...marriage. ‘Cause yeah, maybe it’s stupid and lame, and he knows that no piece of paper will make them any more in love, or make it more real but...

But Eggsy _wants_ that stupid and lame. Wants to intertwine his fingers with Harry’s and hear the clink of wedding bands colliding. Wants to take Harry to stupidly posh restaurants and call him _my husband_ and have the waiters - gay and straight alike - look at him with _envy_ , ‘cause Harry’s the finest fuckin’ eye candy out on the market.

Eggsy wants to take ‘im off that market. Eggsy wants to say _mine_ , and mean it in every way possible, and for Harry to be able to say the same if ‘im.

Eggsy wants to _marry_ ‘im.

Course, that means Eggsy’s got to ask ‘im, and it’s gotta be _perfect_. ‘Cause that’s what Harry is to Eggsy, _perfect_ , and so askin’ ‘im ‘sumthing like this, it’s gotta be perfect too.

So Eggsy’ll make it perfect.

***************************************

He books a month in advance at Harry’s favourite restaurant, reserves the best table. He gets a new suit tailored, just for the occasion. He hides the ring, custom made, a symbolic gold band twisted with a brass one, cradling two diamonds and _Manners, maketh man_ inscribed on the inside at Roxy’s place - Merlin wouldn’t take it, the tosser, ‘sumthing about _there only being so much fluffy shite he can take_ \- until the night of. It’s their anniversary, one year, and Eggsy’s planned everything down to the second. He’s got Harry’s favourite flowers, favourite wine, favourite champagne - chilling in the cellar at home, for _celebratin’_ \- and after the dessert course, Eggsy’ll get down on one knee and ask Harry if he’ll make ‘im the happiest bloke in the world.

The Russian thugs that burst in right before the dessert course and start a genuine gang war shoot out with the Italian mobsters six tables over are not, admittedly, according to plan.

So, naturally, instead of a marriage proposal, Eggsy’s anniversary is marked by ‘im and Harry taking out what ends up being the two most violent sections of the two mob families. And yeah, maybe it ain’t Harry wearing ‘is ring, but he ain’t gunna lie, the sight of Harry coverin’ his six, all lethal elegance and control, hair ain’t even out of place as he blows away some goon?

Pretty _damn_ good sight, if Eggsy does say so ‘imself.

The creme brûlée, at least, is delicious.

The sweaty, adrenaline fuelled sex afterwards, where Harry fingers ‘is prostate ’til Eggsy comes so many times he’s lost _count_ , before Harry puts all that gymnastics finally to good use and bend ‘im practically in _half_ , fucks ‘im so hard Eggsy’ll be feelin’ it for _days_?

Makes it real hard to feel sour about the night not workin’ out liked he’d planned is all he’s sayin’.

***************************************

Still, mind blowing sex aside, it does mean that Eggsy’s still left with a question he needs to ask Harry, and he still wants it to be perfect, and so he needs a Plan B.

Plan B ends up bein’ Paris, ‘cause Merlin’s either really a secret romantic or just weak to Eggsy’s puppy dogs eyes.

Either, really, would bring Eggsy _great_ joy.

But yeah, Merlin caves and send ‘im and Harry on some fluff assignment to Paris, which amounts to little more than a paid vacation, and Eggsy takes it as the opportunity that it is ‘cause well, City of Love, right, and if movies ‘ave told ‘im anythin’ then you can’t go wrong proposin’ at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

So Eggsy buys tickets; and honestly, first time ‘is background ‘as ever been an advantage, ‘cause all Eggsy’s gotta do is look up at Harry and mention ‘ow he’s never been and Harry gets this _look_ about ‘im, all soft like he wants to give Eggsy the _world_ and doesn’t ask anymore questions.

Incidentally, that look is one that makes Eggsy want to press little _kisses_ to that face, ‘cause Harry should be _illegal_.

But that ain’t the point.

And everything’s going well once they get up there. It’s a perfectly clear night, and they’ve managed to time it just so that the Tower lights up when they’re up there, and Eggsy looks at Harry, impossibly beautiful under the twinkling of the lights and thinks, _ok, here goes nothin’_.

“Harry, I was wonderin’...” Eggsy starts, lookin’ right into those lovely eyes of Harry’s that are lookin’ right back at ‘im. And then something catches ‘is eye in ‘is peripherals, and Eggsy thinks _son of a fuckin’ bitch_ , ‘cause, “Does that look like a bomb to you?”

Needless to say, that was not how he was hoping to end that sentence.

“...Bugger,” Harry says, already switching on ‘is glasses, movin’ towards the device, and honestly, Eggsy thinks that if there’s someone up there, they might hate ‘im, just a little bit.

It is, indeed, a bomb.

Seriously, just fuck ‘is _life_.

Paris doesn’t end up blowing up, ‘cause Harry’s as scarily competent at diffusing bombs as he is at everything else. Still, the evacuation of the Tower and the round up of the perpetrators - seriously, the morons were on the fuckin’ lawn ‘cause they wanted a good bloody view - takes a few hours, and so Eggsy finds ‘imself at 4 am not back in ‘is swanky hotel room with ‘is new fiancee, but with ‘is legs restin’ in Harry’s lap as they eat MacDonalds on the Champs-Élysées, ‘cause it’s the only thing _open_ at 4 fuckin’ am.

They have freshly made smoothies, pastries, macaroons, and burgers with blue cheese. Seriously, Eggsy’s kind of reluctantly impressed, ‘cause this place is fuckin’ _swank_.

Still, Eggsy ain’t about to propose over a Big Mac, no matter how nice the digs, so he puts that on the back burner and let’s ‘imself just enjoy the moment, swipes a fry from Harry and smiles at the little cheeky ankle pinch he gets in retaliation.

Maybe it ain’t _perfect_ , but it’s pretty damn great.

***************************************

Plan C honestly maybe shouldn’t even deserve that title, but Eggsy figures he’s still gotta put it down, for posterity if nothin’ else. ‘Cause Eggsy doesn’t exactly arrive in Amsterdam, home of legal pot and hookers, with Harry and think, _yeah, this is the perfect place_.

Also, someone needs to explain the appeal of clogs to him, ‘cause seriously, he doesn’t get it.

But yeah, off topic. Still, Eggsy gets a look of the canals, and he won’t lie, the thought of gettin’ a boat and poppin’ the question on one of those come to ‘is mind, ‘cause that’s romantic right, and with pot and hookers being legal here, how much crime can they even really have?

A decent amount, Eggsy decides, pressing a cloth down to try and stop the flow of his bleeding knife wound, slumping down in a Red Light window behind a girl in a really incredibly tiny black bikini while he watches Harry take apart the remaining guys - ‘cause Eggsy got like, three of ‘em before he had to sit it out for a bit - in the small Triad faction that’s put ‘im in this position.

Wilhelmina - of the fantastically tiny bikini - turns out to really be a lovely girl, a med student who stitches ‘im up while Harry’s still fighting, and offers ‘im anything he wants on or off the menu for free as a reward for stepping in a stopping those guys from hurting her.

Eggsy refuses politely, as gentleman do, and then again, when she mentions that she can _totally see he’s gone for the stone cold fox of an older guy, and she’s cool with offering a freebie to the two of them together._

That one, Eggsy isn’t going to lie, is a bit more _tempting_.

Really, _amazingly_ tiny bikini.

This, apparently, is something that Harry notices, because as soon as they’re back to base and Merlin’s cleared ‘im with a clean bill of health Harry presses ‘im up against the nearest wall and fucks ‘im, hands hot and _possessive_ on his hips, teeth nipping little marks of _ownership_ into ‘is neck. Fucks ‘im ’til the only world Eggsy can manage is Harry’s name, ’til there’s no one left in ‘is _world_ but Harry, and Eggsy comes so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t go _blind_.

Honestly, Eggsy thinks, once he’s got two brain cells to scrape together again, for all that Plan C was basically shite, he can’t knock it’s results.

***************************************

Plan D, needless to say, is also not exactly a success, ‘cause the universe _hates_ ‘im.

“Who the fuck runs their drug empire through fuckin’ _Wales_?!” Eggsy demands, pacin’ back and forth in Merlin’s office, ring still in ‘is fuckin’ pants pocket and not on Harry’s finger ‘cause of fuckin’ _Wales_ and it’s fuckin’ surprise drug kingpins.

‘Cause yeah, Harry and ‘im are both Doctor Who fans, and Cardiff seemed like a great idea, right up until they’d _literally_ accidentally stumbled across a major drug cartel, and that’d been it for that plan.

Merlin is definitely fuckin’ laughin’ at ‘im.

Eggsy returns the favour by ‘accidentally’ leaving ‘is glasses feed on, and then givin’ Harry the _longest_ , most _drawn out_ blow job he’s ever given, ’til Harry’s cursing filth that would make a _sailor_ turn red, and coming all over said glasses.

Merlin can’t meet Harry’s eyes for three days. It’s kind of _glorious_.

Still though, fuckin’ _Wales_ , man.

***************************************

About a week after Wales - fuckin’ _Wales_ \- Eggsy finds ‘imself in the kitchen before Harry as he usually does in the mornings. Harry Hart’s a man of many things, but a morning person ain’t one, so Eggsy more often than not finds ‘imself up before Harry, settin’ the kettle on and watchin’ Harry as he stumbles downstairs, all drowsy and adorable, JB waddlin' in at ‘is heels to plop ‘imself down at their table.

It’s one of Eggsy’s favourite sights in the world.

And so Eggsy looks at Harry, hair sleep rumpled, slippers a goddamn disgrace, red robe belted low over pyjama bottoms but no top to showcase that ridiculous chest with it’s perfect amount of chest hair, just starting to silver. Harry, still sleep muddled at the table, in that pleasant fuzzy state he gets in ’til Eggsy brings ‘im his first cup of tea, lookin’ over at ‘im with that little smile of ‘is, the one he keeps just for _Eggsy_ , soft and oh so _fond_.

And Eggsy thinks, as he so often does looking at Harry, _oh there you are, I’ve been looking for you forever_.

So this morning, instead of puttin’ his morning tea down in front of ‘im, Eggsy slides a certain box out to him, open, so Harry can see exactly what the box is hiding, what it offers.

It’s an ordinary morning. No crime, no office, no where to be. Nothing but them, and this little piece of the world they’ve carved out for themselves.

It’s a perfect moment.

“Marry me,” Eggsy says.

“Yes,” Harry says, and let’s Eggsy slip the ring on with fingers that don’t hardly tremble as the kettle shrieks, unnoticed, in favour of _finally_ kissing his _fiancee_.

***************************************

Later, much later, after a... _proper_ celebration, Eggsy rests ‘is head on Harry’s sweaty, sated chest, listens to the heartbeat of the man he’s going to _marry_ , and can’t think of a moment where he’s ever been happier.

“I was beginning to think you were never going to ask,” Harry says, into the comfortable silence, aiming for light and unaffected, but Eggsy’s seen him tilting ‘is hand _just so_ he can admire at the ring, so ‘is act doesn't fool Eggsy for a second.

“Well,” Eggsy says, lifting himself up enough so he can catch Harry’s hand with his own and do a little of his own admiring of the sight of his ring of Harry’s finger, before pressing a kiss to that very finger gently, “I needed it to be perfect.”

And it is.

***************************************

FIN

***************************************

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So yes, I did go on a recent trip to Europe, how weird of you to ask ;) But yeah, got back from an amazing trip only for the jet lag to kick my ass hard, so the muse has been a bit brain dead for the last week. So, for now instead of i blinked (and there you were) or love’s got me looking so crazy right now, have some ridiculous proposal fluff while I try and wake the muse up out of her stupor. Because where do you go in series after rimming and bdsm but proposal fluff, right? Right, that’s what I thought ;) Can’t make any predictions on updates on the other two fics, but they will come, I promise and as always, enjoy, and comments feed the (sleepy) muse.


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